Rise of The Iron Eagle (The Iron Eagle Series Book 1) by Roy A. Teel Jr. Page A

called out to identify himself. I was standing to his right. The next thing I know there’s gunfire; it was a shotgun blast that caught me on the left side of my chest, inches from my heart. Barry was able to take cover, but I was hit hard and couldn’t get to cover. The perp was making a move down the front stairs toward me with the weapon trained on me, and Barry was pinned down on the opposite side of the house. There was no backup. I couldn’t reach for my weapon because my left arm had been hit. I was ready to get it when there was a shot over my shoulder, and the perp dropped. I saw the hulk of a man through the darkness behind me. He said, “You’re welcome” and disappeared. We would learn later in our investigation into the shooting and arrest that the perp was responsible for the death of three hookers. They found the evidence in his apartment after searching the premises. The only thing I can figure is that we got there at the same time as The Eagle. He was obviously going to kill the perp, and did, and in the process saved my life. This is the first time I’ve seen him since that morning. I had no idea that the man who saved me was The Eagle.”
    Steve didn’t know what to say. The two walked back to the school and finished up with their people. Steve looked at Jim as they walked out of the school toward their cars. “Thank you.” Jim smiled. “You want to get a beer?” “It’s 5:30 in the morning.” He laughed. “You know the old saying: it’s five o’clock somewhere. Come on. I know just the place. You’re gonna love it.”

Chapter Seven
    ‘And with that Jim walked on down
Atlantic to his car, leaving Steve
standing on the corner looking at
the buildings and businesses, lost in
what his next move was going to be.’
    T he Los Angeles River winds its concrete way through the LA basin. They call it a river, but it’s really a flood control channel that starts in the San Fernando Valley and winds its way through the basin until it pours into the ocean in Long Beach. The Basin River Killer, as he has been nicknamed, has been stalking these riverbeds and washes for nearly forty years. He’s very particular about his prey. He likes the homeless and infirm, the kind of people who aren’t missed, who never get reported to the police until their bodies are found. Every now and then, over the past four decades there’s been a missing person report, but they are almost always reported as transient family members who either didn’t show up for a holiday or someone from one of the shelters noticed they were missing. The cops don’t give them much attention, which is why he likes to prey on them. He has a very specific body type but gender doesn’t matter. He likes them meaty, too thin and he can’t do the things he likes to do with and to them.
    He lies on his stomach in the predawn light in tan camouflage peering through a pair of night vision goggles. He’s been stalking two men for the better part of a week, and they are finally in an area where he can grab them without being noticed. He stands up and walks back to his white windowless van and pulls out onto the basin floor and drives over to where the two men are camped. He stops in front of the makeshift camp and exits the vehicle. He’s got two Tasers on each hip, zip ties, and duct tape. He moves silently and surprises the sleeping men. In a matter of minutes, both are incapacitated and are in the back of the van headed for his home. He’s excited at the result of his hunt, and he whispers back to the two dazed men, “We’re going to have a lot of FUN!” His high pitched, breathy laugh is diabolical.
    The drive home is relatively brief. He has a small cabin off Parson’s Trail in the hills overlooking the San Fernando Valley. The road is an access road, so the only traffic he ever gets is either from the electric company when they service the nearby power lines or fire crews if there’s a fire in the area or they are doing